


Thunder

by beekeepercain



Series: In Fewer Words [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Caring John Winchester, Childhood, Gen, Parent John Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the storm that scares Dean, but he knows he's got to be tough for Sam no matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

* * *

 

Dean’s got his hand deep in Sam’s soft hair. The thunder doesn’t get to him anymore. It did when they still had a home, but now it’s just another sound, a distant rumble that has nothing to do with him. The flashes of white light up Dad’s back; he’s bent over his notes. Dean doesn’t know much about them, and Sam is shaking, so he holds on tighter and tries not to think about it too much.

He tugs his fingers through the knots in his brother’s hair and stares idly at the wall ahead. He’s tired. Still doesn’t know how to communicate it.

“’s okay, Sammy. Just a storm. It’s not gonna get you, promise.”

It’s not like fire.

“Dad?”  
His voice breaks a little, and he swallows. The memory of bitter smoke filling the corridor scares him. He can still feel it caught on his skin, clinging to his hair that John cut short last week. Sam’s weight is different: he’s grown too big to fit on Dean’s lap, but Dean could still carry him. Sometimes at night he feels like he can’t breathe from the fear that he might have to do it again.  
“Dad.”

Dad’s shape changes. He rises up, stretches his neck from side to side and spins around on the chair.

“Yeah, Dean?” 

His voice is warm but he’s tired, and Dean feels stupid for calling out in the first place. The notes are important. He knows better than to interrupt. When he says nothing, Dad sighs and stands up.

“Is it the thunder?” he asks, walking up to them.  
When he’s there, he runs his hand through Sam’s hair and over Dean’s hand stuck in the curls. Dean doesn’t expect it, but the next thing he does is the same thing for Dean. Dean can hear the friction between Dad’s rough palm and his own hair.  
“You know it’s just like you said. Just a storm, Dean. It can’t get you.”

Dean wants to argue, but he doesn’t have words for the things he fears, so he stays silent. They don’t talk about that. They don’t talk about… Mom. 

Dad pulls up a chair, brings it next to the only bed in the room and lands a hand over Dean’s shoulder.

“Look, it’s late. I’m gonna tuck you boys in. If you need to go to the bathroom, do it now so you won’t have an accident again.”

Heat flows into the tips of Dean’s ears and he lowers his gaze, biting his teeth together until they feel like they might break. He shakes his head almost unnoticeably.  
“No.”

“Alright. Give Sam to me and get under the blanket.”

“Dad.”

“Hm?”

Dean lays Sam on the bed, off his lap; the boy’s eyes watch them keenly, but he’s much too tired to talk, and if it wasn’t for the thunder, he’d be fast asleep already. Dad picks him up, hands under his arms, and presses him against his chest for a moment. Dean knows he shouldn’t, but he wishes Dad would do the same for him. Just once more, like he used to. Instead, he makes way under the blanket, and Dad returns Sam to him, places him so close that all Dean has to do is breathe out and his tummy presses against his brother’s warm back. Sam’s hand reaches out for his when he wraps an arm around him, and his short, fat little fingers take a hungry grip of Dean’s the moment he allows it to happen.

It feels good. Sam feels good. Dean wriggles closer and buries his face into the back of his brother’s head, eyes on Dad.

“Can you put the cassette on?” he asks in a quiet voice, afraid that it won’t happen.

There’s a strange expression on Dad’s face for a moment, and he rests his palm over Dean’s side after pulling the blanket over them both. It’s warm and large - large enough to cover most of Dean’s side. He curls up more firmly, knees pressing against Sam’s butt, wishing he could be covered entirely by his father’s hand. He needs it; needs that safety and certainty that he feels in its presence, but then it’s gone, and the warmth that lingers in the blanket over him fades too fast. And then it’s just him and Sam again.

“Zeppelin?” Dad asks him, now with a crooked smile.

Dean nods, his nose full of Sam’s baby hair.

“Sure thing, Dean. Now close your eyes and shut out the storm. It’ll be over by morning, I promise. And Sammy?”

Dad’s hand returns, only for him to brush the tip of his finger over Sam’s round nose.

“Dean’s got you.”


End file.
